The Old Brimham Rocks, On the weathered hill,
Battered by the rain, Blows the winds will.
A sight so old, Ancients did so see,
The shapes we have, Are seen by me.
The Old Brimham Rocks, On the blustery slope,
Battered by the wind, But stones do cope.
A view so clear, The cold that bites,
The shapes we see, The greatest of sights.
The Old Brimham Rocks, On the ancient hill,
Battered by the time, They stand so still.
A place of peace, we stand in awe,
The shapes we find, what they now are.